Frozen Quivers
by Farewells
Summary: A little "what if" of when Nyssa al Ghul saved Oliver Queen after his defeat by her father's hand. A story of intertwining fate between the Emerald Archer and the Demon's heir.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: **A re-imagining of when Oliver fell at the end of Arrow's third season. A little "what if" of when the daughter of Ra's al Ghul stumbles across a dying Oliver Queen and decides to save him instead.

I wrote this mostly because I was inspired by the potential they could bring, also because I can't really find any other stories involving the two.

This story follows the TV universe, except without the romance between him and Felicity.

* * *

**Chapter: 1**

It was dark – then it was white.

He blinked, eyelids fluttering against falling flakes of snow. The coldness blanketed him from all sides, but it felt distant, like an echo, a fading afterthought.

An icy gust swept over his battered form – and he gasped, hands moving quickly to shield his eyes from the snow. Wetness brushed across his cheeks, his arm leaving a trail of sticky red. His gaze fell, noticing his arm stained crimson, from fingertip to wrist. He couldn't move, his body felt detached, broken almost.

Eyes darted to his surroundings – white as far as he could see.

_"Forgive and have mercy upon him..."_

His face contorted in pain as memories shot forward like insistent stars upon a darkened sky.

_"… Excuse him and pardon him, make honorable his reception."_

_Ra's al Ghul moved with a speed he could not match._

_His blade was clumsy and unrefined, but Ra's was almost like an extension of his own arm._

_"… protect him from the punishment of the grave..."_

_Forged steel tore into flesh – and then weightlessness, as the cliff's wall rose while he fell._

_"... and the torment of the fire."_

And fire he felt. His fingers dug into the snow around him as fire tore across his lower chest. He instinctively threw a clump of ice over the wound, but it did little to alleviate the agony. He couldn't breathe, each constriction of his chest expelling a little more blood into the surrounding snow.

Darkness came and went. The sky was darker when he regained consciousness.

He laid there for the longest time, trying to use his training to compose his strength. Still, something prevented him from moving. He had to find out what.

He pushed an arm into the snow, trying to lift himself off the ground when falling awkwardly onto his right side. He realized that his right arm had not moved the entire time. He turned his gaze and saw his own elbow twisted at an extreme angle, the sharp edge of what seemed to be bone protruding out from the gory wound. His entire limb was blueish pale from his shoulder down, most likely due to the onsetting effects of frostbite.

And like how the memory of his fight evoked pain from his sword wound, it was then his body noticed his broken arm.

He screamed – and darkness returned.

_It's been 67 years since someone challenged me_  
_Heir to the demon._  
_Oliver..._  
_Choose..._  
_Oliver!_  
_Oliver!_  
_Do you covet death so much?_

Oliver Queen burst free from dusty sheets, cold metal brushing across his ribs. He convulsed in horror, realizing that his entire right arm was coated in metal of dull black. He tore at its edges, then slammed it against the nearby wall. But it was useless, he couldn't remove the coating.

Taking a long second to calm himself down, he started to examine the foreign attachment. It started at the end of his shoulder, where scarred flesh could be seen. He remembered the way his arm looked after his fall from the cliff's edge – he remembered the mangled flesh, the protruding bones.

The metal resembled an armored fist, but he couldn't move the metallic fingers, and he dared not imagine what laid underneath. Removing the sheets around him, he noticed bandages wrapped surgically around his lower chest. There was a dampened spot near where his frantic movements had resulted in the reopening of his wound.

He took a look at his surroundings – he was in a hut of some sort, in a condition as dismal as he was. It was dark and dusty; there was no other furniture but the bed he sat on. The window was boarded up with nails that seemed to have rusted in the last century. The curtains that hung to the side, once white, were now grey and torn, almost as lifeless as everything else was.

Then – came a soft crack, and the doors swung inwards.

"You are awake," a voice accompanied the hellish winds.

Turbulent winds forced against the opened door like wrathful demons. The doorway was quickly pulled shut, effectively shielding the occupants from the maelstrom outside.

"Where am I?" Oliver demanded, his grip tightening around the nail he hastily dug free from one of the wooden boards behind him.

"You seemed to have forgotten who it was that saved your life, Oliver Queen." Nyssa al Ghul's tone was non-threatening, but an air of ambivalence clearly hung between the two. She motioned towards his held weapon with a look of amusement until he hesitantly placed it aside.

She removed her winter hood, freeing a headful of darkened locks as tufts of hair mopped against her forehead. "You are somewhere safe."

"Are we still on Nanda Parbat?" he asked, his posture still equally as stiff. It was a rhetorical question, there was nowhere else on Earth that existed such hellish winds. "Why?" he asked. "Why am I not dead?"

* * *

_A miracle, she thought._

_He was more dead than still amongst the living. The feeble movements of his chest were barely noticeable; desperate, yet bravely unrelenting, clinging on to all it could. It took only a second for her to access his situation – he was critically injured, if she left, he would surely die._

_He stood no chance – not against his wounds, not against the temperature, and surely not against the wolves._

_The ice was a blessing. It prevented the excess loss of blood from the wounds that her father had inflicted. But his right arm was already gone. It was beyond salvageable, not just brutally twisted from the elbow down, but the entire stump already in a darkened shade of blue._

_Frostbite. He would never shoot an arrow with that arm again._

_She did not hesitate. Her blade swung forward – a clean slice, there was barely any blood._

_She cut a piece of her cloak and made him a tourniquet before carefully moving him onto the makeshift shed that she brought along. It was already dusk, and she knew that the nights were even more so dangerous than an assassin's blade._

_She started to pull. The ropes quickly dug into her gloves and flesh. She bled, but they survived._

* * *

It wasn't how she had imagined his eventual return to consciousness. She preferred him unconscious, like the way he was for the whole of last month. But only the latter half.

His first two weeks were plagued with constant peril – an insistent fever that just wouldn't set. He slipped in and out of a delirious state due to the setting infection of his wounds. There were no basic medical supplies on this part of the mountain, and she could only make do with the wild herbs that she could gather.

He did not know what she had done for him, but she did not blame him. She couldn't find the proper words to explain their current predicament.

"What else does Ra's al Ghul want from me?" his voice freed her from her thoughts. "What is-"

"Ra's al Ghul believes you are dead," she interrupted. Her lips twitched, "I found you by the cliff's edge and told them you were already dead."

His face was plagued with questions, but he was quiet for a long minute.

"Thank you," he said.

She nodded.

* * *

"My arm," he asked afterwards, the image of his broken arm still burning brightly in his mind. "I assumed it was… too late?"

She nodded. "You have the village doctor to thank for that contraption. He's the village's blacksmith as well. A talented old man. He helped with your wounds while I gathered the proper herbs from the village's garden. Not an easy task considering most of them were already withered frozen."

"What is this… material?"

"He mined it from the springs beneath Nanda Parbat. Near a small cavern lake, said to hold magical healing properties."

He studied the glove-like object. It fitted him like an actual arm, albeit bulkier than a natural limb. His rational mind dismissed the object's mystical healing properties, but with the things he had seen in the last few years, along with his recently amputated arm's lack of visible discomfort, he felt a little swayed in his beliefs.

"Garden? Village? Doctor?" he asked after her explanation, not quite sure what she was referring to.

"The village," she said as a matter-of-factly, like it was the most common-known piece of knowledge in the world. "Yes, we do have a functioning village, with young and old. Did you think Nanda Parbat is a place where only assassins reside, without a functioning society?"

"That's… exactly what I thought," he admitted sheepishly.

* * *

"We need to change your wrappings," she said when noticing the reddened stains of his bandages. "We can't let them get infected again."

She sat onto the edge of the bed, across from him, her presence barely making a dent on the bed's surface. She removed a fresh roll of bandages and a flask of ointment from the bag she brought along. "I will help you, you'll only embarrass yourself with one arm."

He didn't disagree. He positioned himself beside her, giving her an easier angle to attend to his wounds. Her fingers brushed across his skin, the cool ointment quickly glossing over his opened wound, her touch as careful and meticulous as one possibly could.

She leaned closer as the bandages started to further cover his ribs, each layered tenderly over the previous. Her breath washed lightly across his skin – he looked away, but she did not seem to have noticed.

"A month," she said afterwards when he asked, "you were unconscious for a month."

He wasn't expecting that. It was a lot longer than he anticipated. His team must have thought he fell in combat.

"I need to get back," his voice was shaky and filled with worry. "My team needs me. I need to get back to Starling."

"Have you lost your mind as well?" she motioned towards the outside world. "Look at where you are, we're on one of the highest points of the Tibetan mountains, during one of the harshest winters in a thousand years. You will not survive a day, much less the month's trek to the nearest inhabited village."

"Then what am I supposed to do!?" his voice strained, "to wait for my death in this icy prison!?"

"No," her voice softened, but it was filled with confidence. "You get better, you train and you become stronger. Then together, we kill Ra's al Ghul."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n:** So, I've decided to return to the story. It's almost an entire year and I do apologize for the long absence. I work long hours and I generally do not have a ton of time to write, so when I do, it's going to be spent on stories that I enjoy the most.

I disliked season 4, the writing, the inconsistencies, the flashbacks no one cares about. Oliver was weaker than a normal henchman whenever the story needed and Nyssa was turned into a useless plot device that lasted whole of 2 episodes.

My interest for Arrow went to an all time low and the story was put on hiatus.

However, I watched the first episode of season 5 and for the first time in almost two seasons, I actually enjoyed myself. It made me interested in Arrow again. I ended up rewatching the first two seasons and now I'm actually pretty hyped for the season again.

Anyways, most of the story was written 1-2 years ago. I've improved on my writing since then, so I've decided to do a quick rewrite / edit of the earlier chapters, which would give myself a chance to catch-up on my own story, as it's been near a year since my last update.

Will probably update 1-2 chapter edits a day up until the latest chapter, which then I'll start working on a newer one.

* * *

**Chapter: 2**

He had considered every possible way of escape, but he knew her logic was ultimately sound. There was nothing he could do but stay put and endure the harsh winter. He was trapped on the side of an impassable mountain. It was suicide to attempt a track back to civilization, especially in such weather and with the odds so stacked against him. He considered every other option, but there were none that guaranteed him a way off the mountain.

He would have to survive winter.

His experiences on the island helped little; the climate was different and he was not forced into a tiny enclave during the former. He also had full control of both his arms back then – but unlike his time on the island, there was Nyssa al Ghul.

She brought him necessities from time to time; from food to a weekly change of old robes. There were plenty of nights he went hungry, but he wasn't complaining. He knew of the dangers outside, of not just the weather but the risks of being seen.

There were many times when he lost track of time, and could no longer differentiate between day and night. The only constants in the tiny hut were the persistent hail of wind against the tiny building and the pelting of snow against its roof.

So he trained, from days which quickly turned into weeks. He knew he needed to regain his strength, to find balance between both his arms. It still felt uncomfortably detached, but he was slowly getting the hang of it. He needed more than anything else to prepare for the inevitable battle he would soon enough face – when winter ends.

* * *

_The tattooed man felt neither her presence nor suspected her intent. _

_She knew she had to stay close to her target – a gun was too loud and would draw unnecessary attention, she needed something small, something accessible at close range. A knife was perfect, one laced with the deadliest poisons._

_The man suddenly picked up speed, his palm slipping upwards into his jacket, a movement performed so quickly she almost missed the blade that appeared in his grip._

_Her heart thudded like a war drum._

_Somehow he knew._

_Her grip tightened on her weapon – and she followed as he turned into an alleyway._

_Darkness engulfed her in the confined space. There came barely a warning as an arm shot forth from the enclosed darkness. She dropped to her knees as training took over instincts, the momentum of the man's blade slicing through where she stood only seconds ago._

_She reacted instantly, dropping her shoulders, making herself a smaller target as she shoved forward into the side of the man's ribs. Her sudden attack sent her target off balance, and she used their momentum to drive her elbow into his exposed chest, sending them both stumbling backwards. She gave him no chance to catch his breath – she pivoted, her body lancing forward in his direction, the two of them tumbling across the ground, her weapon brandished in her palm, the blade's sharpened tip quickly pressing into the man's throat._

_He attempted to stop her, but the blade was already drawing blood, the poison soon taking hold. She pulled deeper – and the man grew ever more desperate. An arm shot towards the side of her skull, sending her head snapping to the side. She lost her grip, allowing the man to grasp blindly for another hidden blade._

_She barely flinched as the knife tore into her palm, her voice muffled by years of training. Her own blood trailed down her palm, mixing with the red from his neck, but she held on persistently, even as another drove into the side of her ribs. Her armor was thick, but still he drew blood. She grunted, but regained her grapple. Her legs wrapped into his side, pinning his arms to the ground as she applied even more pressure towards his neck._

_Her target's struggling soon grew weaker, and he soon ran out of blades his as hand fell limply to his side. She pulled – and he gurgled in response, blood pouring uninterrupted from his wounds. He tried to clasp onto his neck, to stem the flow of blood, but she granted no reprieve._

_She held on, even as the body eventually stilled, even as lifeless eyes looked up in her direction. She was battered, bloodied. She trembled, her first kill, the first of many._

* * *

She jerked awake, greeted by a familiar setting as she slipped back to consciousness. She must have fallen asleep, her fingers unconsciously brushing across the knife wound at the back of her palm; a dream of a memory, a lifetime ago. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the gloom of the hut before noticing him, Oliver Queen, upside down by the other end of the room.

She blinked again, her eyes were not playing tricks.

His head dipped downwards as he leaned against the behind wall, balancing only on a single uninjured hand as he performed handstand push-ups. She watched him closely, fascinated by his routine. He tilted slightly, no longer using the wall, freestanding as he dropped down, holding still for a long second before pushing himself back up. She counted another hundred before he jumped back up onto his feet.

There were many nights she spent awake wondering if she had made the right decision in saving his life, but she knew that for her plans to succeed, she had no other choice than to trust him.

After all, they both wanted the same thing.

"Come," she said as she tossed a pile of darkened robes in his direction. "Get dressed. My father is out on a mission with half of his men, we'll be heading into the village for supplies. There will still be guards, so be ever vigilant... and stay out of sight.

* * *

_Coldness._

It lashed away at every exposed part of his body, frigid winds that blew painfully against his hooded form. He could barely see beyond the raging tides, the relentless winds reducing visibility to below zero. It felt like he just stepped through the gates of a frozen hell. He could neither tell up nor down, the sky indistinguishable from the ground, everything else just a dizzying vortex of white.

Tiny specks of crystalline ice were hurled at him from all directions, peppering him with chills below negative degrees. He grasped blindly at the space in front of him, no longer able to see where he even came from. He spun, an arm pressed above his eyes, trying to shield himself from the snow but to no avail - an embarrassing attempt, useless as he continued to be assaulted from all ends.

He staggered, his feet stumbling through inches of deep snow; he struggled to regain his balance, trying to find a firm grip when his foot suddenly came up empty. Nothing else came up to meet his falling soles - neither ground nor snow.

One thing quickly registered at the back of his mind - the mountain's edge.

His arms swung wildly, but there was nothing for him to hold onto.

There was a sharp intake of air, his body tensing as he was suddenly stilled. A pair of steady hands held onto the back of his cloak, holding him in place. His eyes slowly adjusted to the below winds, allowing him to peek over where he almost fell, a crevice that led seemingly to the ends of the world.

He could not see her, but felt her fingers taking his as they were guided away from the drop. He loudly asked if she knew where she was going, if she could even recognize the path in such harsh weather.

She could not hear him over the raging winds, but if he were to have stood in front of her, he would have notice that her eyes were closed the entire time, guided through the mountain by something stronger than even their eyes could see.

* * *

Out of the cold and into the darkness. They left the howling winds behind, their footsteps echoing as they entered an enclosed area – a cave with zero luminosity; its entirety shrouded in unseen darkness.

"Follow me," their fingers a comforting entwine as they headed deeper into the darkness.

For almost an hour they walked, the cave an eerie darkness, nothing else existed but the sounds of their breathing and an occasional slither from somewhere in the unseen dark.

It took them a long while before he heard the distant rumbling of civilization. Their footsteps slowed as they approached a streak of light at the end of their path. She told him to stay still as she checked out their surroundings. He crouched behind a cavern rock while she disappeared around the corner. She returned minutes later, motioning him to follow.

Sunlight greeted them as they exited the cave, his eyes widening at the impossible sight. There were trees as far as his eyes could see, and colored birds, not seen to the rest of the world, took flight to the canopies above. Soil – not snow, crunched beneath his feet as they headed forward, and the screeching of nearby animals could be heard.

They entered a forest – a hidden oasis deep within the Tibetan mountains – Nanda Parbat.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n:** Refer to chapter 2 for notes.

* * *

**Chapter: 3  
**

It was like stepping into a painting of vivid greenness, the canvas covered by a multitude of lush greenery and blossoming flowers. He knew they were still in the heart of the Tibetan mountains, but it felt like they've left the blizzard behind and finding a beautiful botanical garden in its wake.

He noticed cavern walls surrounding them from all corners, stretching massively towards the above skies, illuminated by what seemed to be rays of sunlight filtered through the ceiling.

His eyes trailed upwards - and it was then he realized they were still inside the mountain. They were in a cavern that resembled much of a volcano's crater, with the funnel's exit layered by transparent ice, which illuminated the entire area by enhancing the outside sunlight.

They kept low to the ground as they trekked silently in the direction of the nearby village. It grew dark as they closed in on their destination, the false sky losing its illumination as night crept steadily by.

"We need to find shelter soon," Nyssa stopped in her tracks. "The ice above acts as a conductor, it channels the sunlight and brings the cavern warmth." There was a slight hint of unease in her voice. "But when night falls, the cold returns. We must hurry or our frozen corpses shall be all that remains."

Then she was gone – a trail of fluttering leaves in her wake. He quickly followed after her, the coming chill chasing close behind. The trees around them started to whiten as ice formed on their surface. They increased their pace and before long, exited from the forest's tree-line, coming upon a guarded castle by an empty clearing.

It resembled a page off a medieval fantasy tale - there was a large stone building in the center of the clearing, surrounded by dozens of smaller structures in a circle. He could see dozens of tiny fires from where he stood, an indication of the villagers' presence.

"Come," her voice was low as they crept towards the village. "There are lesser guards tonight due to my father's absence. Even so, we must remain hidden. The illusion of your death is your greatest strength."

He nodded, shielding his own features with the coat's hood as they entered the village's gate. He kept his face pointed low to the ground, avoiding any unnecessary contact as they left the forest behind. It was the first bit of civilization he encountered in weeks.

The hung lanterns illuminated their surroundings in an eerie glare.

To his utter surprise, men and women of all ages walked by them, barely noticing the two as they crossed paths. It felt like he was in an actual functioning society, walking through the markets of a medieval castle. He also noticed several guards with long blades strapped to their sides, and while they reminded him of the dangers close by, there were also women with baskets filled with groceries crossing the streets – a stark contrast which brought a hint of normality towards this strange community.

They eventually stopped by an empty alleyway next to a door with a hanging sign - the faded words no longer recognizable by the human eye.

"Stay here," she told him. "The owner of the store is the village's herbalist. She's a friend, but we should not take unnecessary risks. You should remain hidden."

The door closed behind her.

He leaned against the opposite wall, sighing as he brought his uninjured hand up to the side of his chest. It came away damp, his wound must have reopened in their trek.

* * *

"Hey."

Oliver froze at the approaching voice.

There was a man clad in black armor – presumably a guard.

"Did you not hear me? Hey!"

Oliver remained motionless, his drawn hood giving him the advantage of keeping his identity hidden.

"Villagers are to be back in their homes by night fall. Why are you still here!? What are you-"

Instead of replying, Oliver extended his arm towards the approaching guard, revealing the ball of snow in his palm. "Snowball fight?"

The split second of confusion rippling through the guard's features was all Oliver needed. He threw the snowball in the man's face, causing him to stumble backwards in surprise. The guard recovered quickly and reached for his weapon, but Oliver already closed the gap between them, leaping forward and using the sole of his boot to kick the blade's hilt in mid-draw. The momentum launched the sword back into its scabbard, granting Oliver enough time to loop his arm around the guard's neck, his grip tightening as they tumbled across the alleyway.

Oliver's grip was solid, effectively cutting off the guard's flow of oxygen. But the man was a trained fighter, and he struggled defiantly against Oliver's hold, eventually getting a lucky blow into the side of Oliver's chest, the full brunt of his blow against the exposed wound.

Oliver's grip released immediately, allowing the guard to break free and staggering away, desperately trying to draw oxygen into his derived brain. With his eyes jammed shut from the pain, Oliver barely had time to react when the guard drew his blade and swung it straight in his direction. Unable to dodge the attack or even defend himself, Oliver's brain led to gradual instinct, his dominant arm raising futilely to shield himself from the fatal swing.

The sound of clashing metal surprised them both. Expecting the blade to tear through muscle and sinew, it was then he realized that he was saved by his artificial arm. Sparks flew as they clashed again, the sudden outcome allowing Oliver to quickly kick the man's leg out from underneath him.

The guard fell into the snow – and Oliver grasped forward, trying to reach for the fallen blade, only to realize that the guard had fallen onto his own blade, it's crimson edge protruding sharply from the man's spine.

Oliver fell back into the snow and groaned. Their situation had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone would notice the missing guard.

* * *

The sound of water trickled from somewhere nearby as Nyssa was greeted by the familiar scent of a dozen different herbs. They were strong and overbearing, but it was exactly how the owner of this little establishment preferred.

Nyssa was peaking around a curtain covered entrance when the wooden wall behind her suddenly exploded, showering her with dozens of tiny splinters. She ducked in response, but instead of rolling out of harm's way or to launch herself at her assailant, she simply stood still, her arms raised into the air.

"It's me, don't shoot."

Slowly, she stood straight from her semi crouched position, holding her empty arms to her side.

A young girl stood in front of her, holding a gigantic contraption that resembled a working rifle. It required both her tiny arms to lift and it was pointed straight in Nyssa direction. The weapon's hollowed end was still smoking from the previous shot.

Upon recognition, the girl happily squealed, "Nyssa!" She dropped her weapon and jumped into the older woman's arm, their height difference apparent as she pressed her face into Nyssa's armored bosom.

Nyssa pointed to the discarded weapon with feigned anger in her voice, "Heelia, did you really just tried to kill me?" The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, pressing her fingers against the point of impact, she could still feel the heat radiating from the shattered wood.

"Don't worry…" the little girl smiled. "It wasn't lethal. I thought you were one of the boys who kept disturbing my store. I wanted to teach them a lesson." She released Nyssa and took a step back. "So, what brings you here today? Other than to see me of course!"

Nyssa reached into her cloak and removed a piece of paper, "I require certain herbs of yours."

"White willow bark… Cayenne… Garlic… Interesting…" Heelia smiled, suddenly looking a lot wiser than her full age of twelve. "What are you going to do with those? They're not your usual choice of herbs, in fact, they're quite the opposite. Are you injured? You don't seem to be injured. Who are they for?"

"They're no-"

Before she could come up with an answer, there came a loud crash from outside the building. Nyssa leapt into immediate action, launching herself out of the store and into the alleyway, her eyes piercing into the unseen corners as she searched for any signs of danger. When satisfied they were alone, she moved past the prone body and approached the crouching figure.

She recognized the insignia stitched into the dead man's clothing - a sentry.

It was obvious what happened here.

A stroke of bad luck, or perhaps a premonition, a warning of things to come.

"Help me up," Oliver Queen muttered as he latched an arm around her shoulder.

She noticed the reddened ice beneath him and the darkened pools of blood that stained the side of his body. "Your wound, it's…"

"We have to move the body first," he shot back immediately. "We have to…" before he could finish the sentence, he fell back down onto one knee, face contorting in pain, his hands quickly pressing to the side of his wound.

A soft voice came from behind them, "He is still bleeding, the wound is not properly closed."

Heelia's head peeked out from the warmer interior of her store. Sighing heavily, she stepped out into the freezing weather, cursing at the newfound predicament she was forced into.

"Get him inside," she muttered as she heaved a shovel onto her back, "I'll get rid of this guy."

She sighed, "Sometimes… I think I'm tougher than all of you combined."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n:** Refer to chapter 2 for notes.

* * *

**Chapter: 4**

Nyssa helped Oliver into the store; she cut off a piece of her robe and gathered some ice before pressing the makeshift icepack into the side of his wound. She knew it wasn't an ideal fix, but it would help alleviate the pain for now.

It took almost another half hour before Heelia returned.

"Did anyone see you?" Nyssa asked.

"Don't think so," Heelia shook her head, "I buried him in the backyard. No one's going to find him in the snow." A darker grin followed, "The decomposed body will do well for my herbs."

"I should check it out just to be safe," Nyssa said, then pointed to Oliver's wound, "can you help with the…"

Heelia nodded, "Yes, I've got some needles in the back."

* * *

It was quiet outside. The weather could be considered a blessing; the snow wiping away Oliver's encounter with the guard, and even all of their combined footsteps, all completely gone under a layer of white.

Nyssa sheathed her blade and moved into the open, staring down both ends of the alleyway before leaping towards a stack of discarded boxes, using her own forward momentum to launch herself up into the air. Her fingers latched onto the building's roof and she pulled herself up onto higher ground. Taking a step back and mentally measuring the distance, she started into a running leap and flung herself across to the opposite building.

She slammed against the stone's surface, grunting at the impact, but managing to find a strong grip onto the above balcony. She knew it wasn't possible to flush any hidden sentries out into the open by using a stealthier approach of her own. She needed to move aggressively, to put the sentries into a disadvantage by having them decide between revealing themselves or to remain hidden and allowing her to get away.

The night grew late as Nyssa continued her reconnaissance across the village's rooftops, the moonless sky softening the village's contours as fatigue crept steadily by.

* * *

"Who are you?" the girl later asked, "and why are you with Nyssa?"

"It's a long story," Oliver said while taking a closer look at his closed wound, it was held together properly by a dozen crisscrossing stitches. An impressive work, her hands were as steady as a surgeon's. "We're working on… something together."

"You mean you're planning to kill someone together?" the girl giggled, "I'm young, but I'm not stupid." She paused for a second, looking around the room like making sure they weren't being eavesdropped on, "Is it someone in the League? You guys wouldn't be here if it's an outside target."

"You're a lot smarter than you look," he smiled, "how old are you?"

"Don't try to change the subject!" she squealed.

* * *

Nyssa was crouched behind a collapsed wall, the fallen rubble shielding her from the oil lanterns that illuminated the empty courtyards around them with a fiery glow. It was freezing, but she remained motionless in the bitter cold.

The place was eerily quiet, except soon for the sound of approaching hooves. She counted a dozen riders in the distance – and it terrified her. She knew of only a single person who dared travel in such weather – only the Demon's head himself, Ra's al Ghul, her father.

For some unknown reason, he was returning much earlier than planned, and it was a frightening thought as to why.

She couldn't suppress the sudden emergence of her childhood memories, the many time she had tried hiding her defiance, and the many broken bones he granted in return. Nothing escaped her father, and she tried convincing herself it was nothing more than a simple coincidence, but deep down, she knew otherwise.

_Her father knows._

Three of his men dismounted their horses and darted off into the shadows – in the direction of where she came. She vaulted over the behind wall immediately, she needed to intercept them before they could reach the herb store.

She dashed across quiet rooftops, when there came the sudden presence of another. She stopped immediately in her tracks, honing in on her ability to sense beyond the limits of ordinary perception. She felt the environment coming alive around her – and she could suddenly hearthem, the sounds of labored breathing, of snow against clothing – and the nearby tautness of a pulled string.

She ducked instinctively – as a volley of arrows flew over her head.

She crouched downwards then immediately sprang forward in the direction where she last saw her attacker. She launched herself across rooftops, her weapon drew in midair as she slammed straight into the chest of the first assassin, the two of them crashing down to the alleyway below as she used his body to absorb the fall.

She rolled across the ground and got up onto her feet, forgoing all previous plans of stealth and resuming utmost haste. Approaching the store, she wasted no time in knocking, exploding inside, her voice raised as she tried warning them of the coming danger.

"We have to-"

Before she fully formed her sentence, she felt herself propelled forward and crashing painfully into a nearby basket of herbs. Two arrows stuck out from her back, but when she tried reaching to pull them out, she was suddenly aware of how unresponsive both her arms were.

_Poison._

A type of venom she knew all too well, from a species of snake found only in the darkness of Nanda Parbat's caves.

She couldn't breathe, her lungs paralyzed by the fast acting venom. She noticed Oliver running quickly to her side, shaking her – his lips moved but she couldn't make out the words. Darkness clouded at the edges of her vision, her body starting to convulse as the lack of oxygen quickly brought her to unconsciousness.

* * *

Oliver understood Nyssa's haste the second she entered the building.

She looked afraid, a most unnatural sight. It meant that he too, should be terrified.

He reached for a nearby sword, only to see her crumpling to the ground, two arrows sticking out from her back. They weren't near anywhere vital, but from her sudden lack of movement, he knew they contained a paralyzing agent of some sort.

He grabbed onto the arrow's shaft, trying to free it from her back when the arm of another wrapped around him from behind. Alarms blared in his head and he reacted instinctively, following his training as he crouched straight to the ground, his legs gathering momentum before launching himself back upwards with all of his strength, the back of his head smashing into his attacker's face.

He heard something crack and the grip loosened enough for him to spin and kick the assassin's legs out from under him.

Not missing a beat, he rolled forward, dodging the second assassin's attack, his body pivoting as he sidestepped another swing before lancing forward with one of the arrows he pulled from Nyssa's back, sending it straight into the assassin's exposed throat.

The man stumbled backwards, desperately clawing and gurgling at the wound before quickly succumbing to the same poison.

With the two assassins incapacitated, Oliver returned to Nyssa's side, his fingers pressed into the side of her neck, trying to find a visible pulse.

It was weak, but it was there – she was alive.

But before he could contemplate his next move, he felt something sinking into him from behind, then another, and another. He fell forward, with a sickening lurch at the realization of what they were.

He tried to pull the arrows out, but his arms were no longer responsive. The toxins quickly overwhelmed his body, but before darkness took complete hold, he heard the voice of a man most familiar.

"Oliver Queen… lives."

* * *

Heelia watched the unfolding scene from her hiding place behind one of the herb cupboards.

The place was cramped and smelly, but she remained still despite the discomfort, especially when a dozen more men entered her store.

She recognized the person standing quietly to the side – everyone in the village did.

Ra's al Ghul, Head of the Demon.

There was nothing else she could do as the men dragged away the two unconscious bodies.

It was the last she would see of them for some time.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/n:** Refer to chapter 2 for notes.

* * *

**Chapter: 5**

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he regained consciousness. But it was a rude awakening; his hands tightly bounded behind him as a dark hood was thrown over his head. They marched him forward into warmer surroundings, as snow soon gave way to stone beneath his feet. From the direction they moved him, he assumed they were heading towards the center castle of Nanda Parbat.

They stopped, and one of the assassins forced him down onto his knees.

He was prepared for the worst, but a part of him suspected otherwise. He knew they already had plenty of chances to take his life; there was a reason he was kept alive instead, and brought to wherever they were.

The hood was ripped abruptly from him, his eyes struggling to focus onto his surroundings, disorientated by the sudden lack of natural light. There were in a dimly lit chamber, with walls made of carved stones; there were four sentries in the room, two holding him down and two on prepared guard.

His pupils adjusted to the darkness – and the person who stood in front of him. Ra's al Ghul stepped out from the shadows like a demon in the dark, his features as dispassionate as the stone walls around them.

He nodded, and the guards left them two behind.

"Oliver Queen," Ra's spoke without emotion, "I have granted you death, but you wanted more." He drew his blade, cold steel digging into Oliver's neck. "The truth is, everything and everyone must come to an end, for you… and even me."

The blade twisted and a trail of red sliced down the front of Oliver's clothing.

"Have you accepted your death?" Ra's asked, the blade dipped downwards, "I expected more… resistance."

"You can kill me… but spare your daughter," Oliver started to say, his eyes fearlessly catching Ra's, "she was not a part of this, I forced her into my plans, you do not have to-"

There was a loud thud, as Ra's blade spun in his hands, the dull end of his sword smashing into the side of Oliver's skull, sending him sprawling across the floor.

"I may speak to you with respect, Oliver Queen, but do not think me a fool," the blade returned to its scabbard. "Take him away."

The guards returned, hoisting him up onto his feet and dragging him towards the castle's lower levels.

Oliver tried to remember every path and turn they made, but he was still disorientated from Ra's blow, he couldn't think straight.

They dragged him into the dungeons, throwing him into the furthermost cell; a tiny room without the barest comfort, it was completely barren, without even windows, his only company the layers of dust and dried blood caking its walls.

The bars were locked and the guards departed. After making sure he was finally alone, Oliver started to study his surroundings; he was surrounded by walls of hardened rock, and while the castle itself was ancient, the deadbolts were new and fashioned entirely from modern steel.

Escape was simply impossible for now. There was nothing he could do but meditate silently and try regain his strength.

* * *

The cold water brought him back to immediate consciousness. Oliver buckled in his restraints, but they were wounded too tightly around him. His lungs were burning, his teeth clattering painfully as his arms shook uncontrollably in their binds.

They wrapped the towel around his face again, strong hands holding him still as another dose of water was poured onto the towel. He knew waterboarding was one of the most effective and brutal forms of torture; he trained plenty against it in his attempts to stronger himself against various methods of pain and interrogation.

He did not break, but his body suffered plenty.

It was only hours later when they released him from his binds. He fell to the ground, desperate for air. He clawed at the floor, his hands suddenly clasping into the steep tips of another's boot.

He looked up – and there stood Ra's al Ghul, with the same dispassionate eyes.

"You have held out longer than anyone did," the man said, "a full month of torture, and we're still no closer to breaking your mind."

He lowered himself to Oliver's level, "Perhaps we should try another method." His hand twisted into Oliver's scalp, forcing him to look in his direction. "The ones so close to your heart - your family, your friends." His tone changed, almost curiously, "What would you do, Oliver Queen, if I were to take them all away from you. All I have to do is to give the order, and my assassins…"

At that very second, something flared ferociously inside Oliver's eyes; he pushed himself off the floor in a single leap, drawing the sword of the guard behind him before the man could even react.

The guard's eyes widened in shock – but he was not the intended target.

The blade swung in Ra's direction, only for him to effortlessly push the blade to its side, sending Oliver off balance before the bottom of his palm slammed into the center of Oliver's chest.

Oliver stumbled backwards, the blade falling to the ground.

Ra's lanced forward, catching the blade in mid fall – and in spectacular speed, sliced the throat of the guard it once belonged to; the action undoubtedly the punishment for losing his sword.

"Ra's…" Oliver fell to one knee, his hands painfully clutching his chest, but the fire still remained, "if you even think about touching them… I'm going to kill you."

"You will kill me?" Ra's sounded almost amused, "You can't even touch me in your current state. But… there is a way for you to save your friends."

"What do you want," Oliver snarled.

"I have seen your strength, your potential for greatness," Ra's said, "I do not wish anything of you, but for you - to become the next Ra's al Ghul!"


End file.
